The Storm
by Sand Dun
Summary: Upon seeing his fellow Shaolin Monk, Liu Kang, presumably killed at the hands of Raiden, Kung Lao is thrust into the unknown domains of agonizing sorrows. A storm has come. Kung Lao x Liu Kang
1. Thunder In The Distance

_A/N: I'm finally done revising this story! I was looking over it a while back and decided it need a completely person outlook. Writing it from Kung Lao's perspective the firs time wasn't exactly a great idea on my side. I prefer the idea of it being third person, which is what I've changed it too, along with a few other things. And I think I was making Kung Lao sound a bit too sad and 'I'm so lost and screwed', making him remark on his depression and loss too much._

_Anyway, now that that's said, I really hope everyone likes the new changes! Lots of thanks for all those previous reviews for the original version! For those of you who are just reading this story for the first time, I hope you enjoy and for those of you who have read before, I hope you're just as happy about the new changes as I am. :) Please remember to review!_

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Kung Lao runs blindly. The massive outstretched Outrealm army blossoms chaos all around him, but that does not matter to him now. The screams of Earthrealm's people and the wretched howls of blood-lust beasts, the explosions, and the sharp chatter of gunfire bursts, none of it matters.

The loud smacking of his feet hitting cement pavement is deafened by the destruction surrounding him. No tries to stop him or pays him any heed. He is just another frantic Earthrealm citizen trying to escape this film-like horror. Except it is not escape Kung Lao seeks, but his fellow Shaolin monk.

The young warrior knows where Liu Kang is, and his heart flutters with relief as he cuts around a build's corner to see the towering building he seeks. Shao Khan will enter Earthrealm from atop that structure's roof, and that is where Liu Kang will be awaiting him. Kung Lao swears he knows for he had torn the knowledge from a stubborn Tarkatan warrior.

His intense years of training with the Shoalin are aiding him greatly now. He feels no exhaustion from running the great distance he has, and he does not need to pause before he rushes onto the road. A fear consumed driver zooms past, narrowly managing to miss hitting the warrior. Adrenaline seethes into the monk's blood, and he scrambles the rest of the way across the road more cautiously. Near death experiences always have this affect. The great Shaolin Master had taught him that it was the Elder Gods giving a warrior his strength because of a near met demise.

Kung Lao needs strength now. For he feels no matter how to exerts himself to hasten, he still feels as though he is moving in a slow motion. Anxiety begins to throw its shadow upon him as his thoughts find his thoughts wrapping around the notion of Liu Kang in desperate need of his help. Never has Kung Lao felt such an overcoming sense of fear.

He rips open the building's door and rushes inside. The world outside still forces its great clamor through the broken windows, but it is, nevertheless, quieter inside. Kung Lao stands motionless, breathing heavily. He ignores the knowledge that teleportation requires a concentrated amount of energy that he should conserve for later and uses his power to move through the structure's many floors. Even so, time still seems to throw itself against him despite this rapid pace. Each floor brings him closer… he can almost feel New York's cool outdoor air.

Finally the crisp breeze hits him. Relief floods through the monk, but it is acidly short-lived. He turns around to see Liu Kang lying motionless on the roof. His body is a limp heap and his eyes are closed. Lord Raiden kneels beside him, overlooking his body with emotionless the Shaolin monk does not heed to acknowledge: grief. Revenge is like venom, seething into the blood and spreading like a merciless flame fueled by its own endless passion burn.

Kung Lao's entire body goes rigid.

Every day spent training his skills to undoubting perfection seemed like a squander of time. Victory, praise, and the tournaments all seem like a squander of time. The very sight he had feared mocks him. His body seems to waver and sway as if the slightest pick up of the breeze could send him tumbling. His knees are weak. He could fall so easily, or he could rush forth and steal Raiden's life as he had stolen his friend's. But he does not. Cannot.

The realm Liu Kang had so valiantly tried to defend… and for him to perish like this? Killed by the Thundergod who had swore to protect Earthrealm and her people? Was Liu Kang not good enough? Was this another sacrifice Raiden had found necessary?

Kung Lao's last strands of faith for the Thundergod crumble and burn. Anger mixes with the pain, drowning him in a harsh sorrow.

Raiden looks to him suddenly, and their eyes meet. Surprise easily shows within the pure whiteness of the Thundergod's, while full-fledged hate boils with the Shaolin monk's. Nothing. There is nothing left for Kung Lao here. He can bring himself to do no more than flee. Flee from the place he had so unambiguously come to, lest he bring down his wrath upon the man before him. He hears Raiden call his name to stop, but the monk pays no heed.

Kung Lao leaps from the towering building's roof, for it is the fastest means to teleport. For a moment he considers letting himself fall, to simply feel the thrill of air whooshing past, blurring the destruction as he drops from an eighty-story building. But when he looks down, his heart lurches, and he is given a shrewd reminder of is undeniable fear for heights. It constrains him to use his teleportation.

After a moment he opens his eyes, having closed them like he usually prefers to do. The strong green enclosing of nature and solitude welcomes his sight. And silence. A silence that is so thick in comparison to the thundering sounds of New York's destruction it feels illusory.

He wobbly stands up and searches his surroundings curiously, but his gaze stops suddenly when he catches sight of something. A large peach tree yielding its fruit is growing a few feet behind him.

Memories strike him like a sharp blow, and flow fluently through his mind. This is the tree Liu Kang and he and commonly played upon when they were younger. Even when they aged, they had still found solitude and comfort under or on its healthy branches.

Somehow the monk is not surprised he had come to the place where so many of the fondest memories had been shared. He slowly walks toward the tree. The coarse bark is cool beneath his fingertips, and it brings back terribly vague memories of leaning against the tree sweating madly from the sun's merciless heat. Kung Lao leans against it now, using its strength and determination, as he has none left.

Liu Kang and him had once called this tree The Old Story, because it had seemed so large and hearty when they had first discovered it when coming to train as Shaolin monks. Perhaps they were wrong to assume it was so old, but they had always believed it was.

Frustration swells within Kung Lao's heart, and he can feel the venom spreading. But how can he stop it? It doesn't matter now. He doesn't care. Grabbing his bladed hat, he throws it into the soft grass before him in anger.

How could Raiden have done this? How would he? Liu Kang had trusted and believed in him and all for this?

A loud emotionally festered scream articulates from him, and he punches the tree's hard trunk. Pressing his head against the coarseness, he clenches his teeth at the pain swelling within his knuckles. Despite many endured hardships he cannot stop the tears that suddenly begin to flow so freely.

"Liu Kang…" he numbly mumbles. No matter how many times he whispers his name his soul will not return to his body. But even so he finds comfort in saying what has followed him for most of his life. The monk sinks to his knees to rest against the peach tree.

He hopes he dies here. Dies where Liu Kang and him had laughed, smiled, and shared so many secrets, where they had grew up together.


	2. Tears From The Heavens

Kung Lao pays no heed to the stretch of time he spends simply sitting beneath The Old Story. He only knows he has suffered a long moment when tears are grief are unable to trickle down his cheeks to stain his attire. Yet, the day seesm to darken no more or less then it had been when I first came here.

Closing his eyes in shame, the monk feels wasted. His whole body yearns terribly for rest, but somehow he knows that even with rest the dreary exhaustion that plagues him would still not be cured. It is as though Liu Kang's death has drained him of his strength completely.

When a bond of such strength is taken away, it is not shattered for even in death such things cannot be completely broken. It is merely a temporary separation. An agonizing separation that leaves emptiness where there should be none. Leaves horrid cold where there should be great warmth. A separation that sounds like a moment when one is apart from the he truly loves, but is truly an unbearably long lifetime. It is a separation that leaves a scar visible and ever painful, one that cannot be covered by cloth or façade and burns like a lone, lost star whispering strings of a sorrowful tune. No matter the joys that are attempted to use to fade the scar the results are always the same: it is unforgettable.

Kung Lao prays Liu Kang's death was swift and, if possible, honorable. It is all he can do now that that moment has passed, and he can do nothing more than pray.

The slow _pad pad pad_ of rain against the leaves above sounds within the silent air. The heavens cry tears of passionate sorrow for those who have been lost. They cry for Liu Kang. They cry for Kung Lao, as he can offer no further tears. He wonders then, does it run in New York? He hopes so. Perhaps the Elder Gods can help wash away the blood, treachery, death, and destruction. But it cannot wash away the memory.

Here, under the dense growth of the peach tree, the wetness cannot reach the monk. Wearily standing, he shuffles from under the shelter and into the rain. He wants to feel the damp kiss of tears from the heavens. He needs to the feel the sorrow and hear the whispers of promises for fulfillment once more.

Kung Lao looks to the sky, and teardrops of splatter against his face and slither down his cheeks as if they were his own. Above, a deep mourning gray cloaks the vast sky kingdom. There is no sign of jovial blue skies, but even though they cannot be seen the monk knows the azure, cornflower, and sapphire colors of blue will come through those clouds. With them they will bring joy and laughter, but he will be able to forget his sorrows to be able to bring forth happiness as easily as those clouds? Kung Lao believes no such thing is possible.

He stumbles unsteadily, realizing how truly exhausted he is. The weight of death and mourning has taken away all of his strength. Strength he had earned under cold rain, blistering suns, cold winter days, and hazy summer mornings. Yet he is not strong enough for this. Darkness starts to engulf him. He is blinded and bound into its seemingly endless shadows. The last sensation he feels is the soft, yet comfortable grass pressing against his cheeks, and the last thought that passes through his mind is seeing Liu Kang limp and cold. And alone… so alone.

"Has he woken yet?" questions an old raspy voice. It is the voice of a man, an old man.

"No, he has been unconscious like when we first found him." This is the voice of an older man, but no as ancient as the first. "You say he was found by the ancient peach tree in the meadow?"

"Yes he was—"

Kung Lao grows impatient of their mulling over him. He shifts to find himself achy and cold in body, soul, and heart. But he finds he can't quite open his eyes. "He is waking. P…" The voice pauses as though even speaking drains this man's energy, but perhaps he had overexerted himself elsewhere and is regretting it now. "Prepare tea," he finishes. The other man strides out of the room as Kung Lao manages to open his eyes. The dampness from the rain must have caused for the difficulty.

As the voice had heavily suggested, the man the monk sees is ancient indeed. He is also a Shaolin monk. Kung Lao can tell by the robes that cling loosely to his frail body, and his face. This man is Liu Kang and his master who trained them in the ancient Shaolin arts of inner peace of the mind, body, and soul.

"Master," Kung Lao hoarsely whispers.

"Young Kung Lao," the old man replies in an almost equally silent voice.

"Master…" the youth repeats, tears begin to sting his eyes and threaten to break free.

"What troubles you my young pupil?"

"Liu Kang…" The words are whisper with a heavy heart and surreally pain. "Liu Kang is dead." The sentence is choked out like a painful blade carving into his vulnerable throat. He had forced himself to say them. To so say them does not feel as though he has healed anymore, merely had he has inhaled more poison.

The Shaolin Master tenses, and Kung Lao watches him ignoring the few tears that stream down his cheeks. A fragile teardrop trickles down his master's, but only one. "Liu Kang," he says. His voice is unfiltered and so it is heavy with sorrow. But somehow sharing this pain with his master helps Kung Lao endure it.

The man who had left to get tea comes back in before any further words can be spoken. Kung Lao quickly recognizes him as the one who trained Shaolin students in the fighting arts. He acknowledged his once pupil with a sharp nod, nothing more. The greeting is returned, but Kung Lao looks down when he puts the tea in the nightstand before his master and himself. The old man says nothing either, and with a low grunt of farewell the other Shaolin leaves the room, closes the door quietly behind him.

Silence pursues until the heart of tea being poured breaks it. Kung Lao's gaze remains low, and he simply listens to the splashing of tea trickling from the pot into the cup. "Drink. It will give you some strength," the old master says. Kung Lao takes the small cup with a false smile. His master knows, but offers one in return nonetheless. "I have no strength left, master," the young monk says. His voice is hoarse from not having drunk something in quite some time. "Liu Kang's death has drained me… I have nothing…" The Shaolin simply motions for his pupil to drink.

Kung Lao abides the request, for he holds much respect for the old man. Master Peace is what he told his students to call them. Even now, after so many years, Kung Lao still feels as though he is the older man's pupil.

The tea tastes sweet. But Master Peace had never liked spicy or bitter tea. Kung Lao vividly recalls the old man saying that sweet tea was best to warm a cold soul and bring peace to a troubled mind. He can taste the hint of honey, a delicious yet tricky treat to obtain from the local honeybees.

Master Peace sips at his hot tea, too hot to drink heartily. "My boy," he starts. He has continually addressed pupils as such or other times as 'young'. In a way it is a tradition he has carried on throughout his many years of teaching. "You are swallowed in sorrow and pain. The passing of a soul to the heavens cannot be stopped and cannot be brought back. To accept the fact you must find peace within yourself." Kung Lao listens silently. He is partially detached from reality in his sorrow, but his master's words ring within his ears. "To forget a memory we must first relive and the it," the old man says, his voice wheezy with age. "Tell me, how did our young Liu Kang come to pass?"

Kung Lao's hands begin to shake in sudden anxiety, and he must set down his teacup to avoid spilling its contents. There is silence as the man takes a few moments to lace himself back together. Master Peace is patient however, but he as always been a gentle patient hand in his ways of teaching. Kung Lao is more thankful of that then he has been in years. "I had been thrown unconscious by Sindel. She ambushed us soon after Raiden—" his name is said with hatred, practically being spit out like a poison. "had gone to seek counsel with the Elder Gods alongside…" There is hesitation. "With Liu Kang," Kung Lao finishes slowly. "Our allies, Sub-zero and Johnny Cage, woke me after Sindel had been killed and her forces destroyed." There is another pause, and Kung Lao's voice begins to crack.

"They told me Liu Kang had thought I was dead when he couldn't find me, and in his anger and s-sorrow he went after Shao Kahn." The young monk stops, unsure if he can continue.

"These will be painful words, my boy," Master Peace speaks up. "The bond between Liu Kang and you was more than friendship. Choose your words with what your heart speaks the memory as." Kung Lao nods his understanding, even though the words do not make his objective any easier. "I ran after him, master," he starts again. "Never before had I felt such fear, and no matter how fast a forced myself to go… I felt as though each step I took wasn't fast enough. I was right, master… I was right." A few tears cannot be helped as they trickle down the young monk's already tearstained cheeks. He knows the next words will be the cruelest. "I found Lord Raiden knelt over his body. No others were there. The Thundergod killed him. The Thundergod killed Liu Kang."


	3. Lightening Strikes

Master Peace's body turns rigid upon catching the words: "The Thunder God killed him." They echo within Kung Lao's mind. Each one is a cruel blade dripping with the utmost poison, and they rip and cut the warrior open, teasing for a weakness they know he posses. Each whispering and encouraging words of how death will fulfill death.

The young Shaolin monk take a slow breathe to relax himself from the thoughts of revenge. His master had spent many sunrises and sunsets teaching in the ways of inner peace. Kung Lao know those lessons are more important than ever right now. However, when the mind is hazed with the venomous desire for revenge and is mingled with sorrow such things do not come easy. It is comparable to dangling fresh meat in the face of a starving beast. The meat is like revenge, an object that is ever so tempting and craving to take. But revenge is a twisted merciless attempt to bring satisfaction from bringing death upon one who brought death upon another and death that cannot be reversed. Kung Lao knows he must not take the bait.

The sorrow and anger will entwine themselves into a horrific ugly monster with nothing but evil dwelling within it if not controlled.

"Find peace," The old Shaolin master whispers at last. Are these words for Kung Lao or himself? The young monk finds consolation in them nonetheless. "My dear boy, are you sure?" Kung Lao can feel the anger set in. How could he not be sure? He had known what he had seen.  
"Lord Raiden knelt over Liu Kang," the monk repeats. "Liu Kang was motionless, lifeless. Dead. Dead because Raiden killed him!" His voice has become bitter, and the emotional wretch he has become forces the word to come forth like this.

The Shaolin master is silent.

The rain has begun at a hard downpour now. It thumps against the roof in its natural way creating rather loud rhythm. From a light rain to a downpour… the Elder Gods must be seeing and echoing the pain.

"Rest. Look for peace, Kung Lao. Find it within yourself," the old monk says finally. Pointing towards his heart, his adds more softly, "Find it here." He stands with the aid of the chair's armrest and begins to wobble for the door. Kung Lao frowns unhappily at the acknowledgment: truly his master has aged much. "Finish the tea. It will help warm you. The honey within it is sweet-"  
"-It helps bring warmth with each heartbeat," Kung Lao finishes. He knows the silly rhythms his master would often make just to get his students to smile or because he enjoyed how the words would roll off one's tongue in a jovial manner. Master Peace turns to offer the mourning warrior a satisfied smile and is given a pathetic grin in return.

Once his master has left is Kung Lao given time to dwell within his thoughts. Looking around the room, he immediately recognizes this as the one Liu Kang and him had shared. The memory almost makes him smile, but he is stopped. A painful gash upon his heart is oozing deep red blood.

Feeling restless and afraid his mind may dwell upon the horrific sight atop the roof, Kung Lao forces himself from bed. His master had kindly covered him with three thick blankets. Yet when Kung Lao slides off the bed, he is amazed to realize how truly cold he is anyway. Even with a dry pair of pants on he still feels a bitter chilliness biting at his legs. Truly, death grips any within its icy fingers. The teacup he clasps tightly in his hands is the only thing that keeps them warm now.

Kung Lao begins to walk to Liu Kang's bed. It is close to his, but still seems to take a lifetime to reach. Memories dance in his mind, and he almost believes he can see Liu Kang sitting at the edge of the bed laughing about a now-forgotten prank.

The teacup falls from his hands, and the warm mixture splashes into the floor at the instance the cup breaks into pieces. Kung Lao reflects that like his heart, the cup is broken and like his memories, the tea is still warm for it is ever fresh.

The grieving monk flings his arms onto the bed and presses his face within the blankets. They lack warm and bring little comfort, but even so he knows they were Liu Kang's.

Why? Why did Liu Kang have to die? If only he had become conscious sooner… if only he had been able to save him. If he were alive now Kung Lao is certain would tell him how much their friendship meant, and how he loved Liu Kang's sense of humor, how he often idolized his great determination and moral, and how he always had considered him his closest and dearest friend. Liu Kang had been with him for so many years, and he had never told him these things.

Why?

He deserved to know… deserved to know what a good friend he had been, and how much everything he had done meant.

Kung Lao don't want to whisper goodbye. He doesn't want Liu Kang to be gone. He can't be. Yet like ever beat of his heart, Kung Lao knows he is. "Goodbye Liu Kang," he whispers. A grueling wave of sorrow overcomes his as the words are spoken. "Goodbye," he chokes out once more. The monk feels as though he is tearing out his own beating heart and selling his soul to admit that Liu Kang is gone.

Remaining here, at Liu Kang's bedside, is ever tempting. But Kung Lao knows he cannot. He must find peace and regain my strength. It will be surely be needed. Swallowing a full breath, the monk stands while exhaling. He glances around sorely hoping his fellow monks brought back his bladed hat.

As he makes his way back to his bed, he feels lightheaded yet heavy hearted. So, this is what mourning and true sorrow feels like? He had seen death many times. Watched as men and women alike were drowning in anguish upon loosing one dear to them, but never had he experienced it. Never truly understood it. Words cannot describe the pain. There can never be too many tears shed.

Kung Lao silently thanks the Elder Gods and the monks, as they had brought the trusty apparel and weapon. It is leaning against the wall by his bed's nightstand.

He picks it up and carefully draws his fingers along the blade's curve. It is still sharp as ever. And perhaps it will find use. Use cutting Raiden's head from his shoulders? Or perhaps slitting open his stomach and letting his guts stain the earth? The earth's whose people he swore to protect not betray. The cursed traitor! More then anything the Thunder God deserves punishment, and Liu Kang avenging.

Kung Lao feels an urge telling him he should go. Find Raiden and take his life as he took his friend's. Liu Kang was more then a friend: he was like a brother. It was unjustified that Raiden had taken his life, especially knowing how much the Shaolin monk had trusted the Thunder God.

Clenching his teeth in uncontrolled anger, Kung Lao walks to the window. Pulling up the bamboo curtains he sees a dark charcoal gray sky that cries no more rain, but it is not from night's looming shadow. It is a thunderstorm. Perfect. When better to kill the Thunder God than during a storm of thunder and lightening?

The Shaolin monk almost laughs out in hysteria at the irony or perhaps insanity, but decides against it. It is better if his master does not see him leaving, that he does not see the young warrior like this.

Jumping out of his room, Kung Lao runs down the side of the building. This is where the novices stay, so he does not need to pay any heed to if they see him. He runs into the fields of grain behind the Temple of Meditation. They are almost ready for harvest.

Before he leaves to find Raiden, Kung Lao decides he will visit The Old Story. He turns his course to the old tree. From here he knows exactly where to go, having gone in this way many times before.

The grain is still damp. Droplets soak his pants and bare chest. The monk almost pauses, realizing that in his haste he had forgotten proper clothing, armor, and footwear. But it is too late to turn back now. Truly, he does not need those things to defeat Raiden anyways. All the monk needs is his bladed hat and desire for revenge.

Thunder rumbles above, and it echoes at warning of the lightening that may strike so afterwards.

Kung Lao feels the cool air and rain's wake around him as he runs. Somehow it brings him back to life, but perhaps it is just his new purpose that is granting him this new strength. It is simply a purpose, one that will less likely bring peace.

Pausing a top a softly slopping hill, the monk sees The Old Story below. A memory comes forth in this instance: Liu Kang and him are standing upon this hill. Kung Lao can see it as clear as the pebbles beneath a still pond. The two have just walked up the hill. An unspoken message passes between them as they grin at one another. Suddenly they both race down the hill at their fastest. Liu Kang passes Kung Lao and stays ahead for a moment, but the later burst into the lead. With great triumph Kung Lao makes it to the tree first.

The Shaolin monk can almost hear the laughter as Liu Kang tackles me into the grass.

An inexplicable urge sends him dashing down the hill. Kung Lao has the sudden hope that Liu Kang is close behind. A short cheerful chuckle passes his lips as he jolts to a stop before the tree. Turning around with a smile, Kung Lao believes to see his friend close behind, but there is nothing. A cold bitter nothing. The smile and happiness vanish sharply.

The memory he saw was a memory never to be relived again in reality.

With a sigh, the warrior moves beside The Old Story. He places his hand against its trunk and whispers, "Sorry old friend it's just me. Liu Kang cannot come any more." The tree's branches groan and the leaves flutter wildly. A storm is coming.

"I will kill the traitor who has taken him away. I will avenge this injustice." A loud rumble of thunder is heard overhead. Then, a few moments later, lightening strikes.

A sharp smile crosses Kung Lao's lips, and he turns his attention to the grassy fields behind him. "Come for me Raiden!" the monk shouts out in spiteful hatred. Lightening crackles once more, and the smirk quirking the monk's lips upward grows bigger, expectant. Lightening never strikes in the same place twice.


	4. After Burn

The storm has come. The winds pick up. Only for a few moments do they pause, before continuing again. Droplets of rain are brought down at a light, but dense downpour. Kung Lao feels assured that these teardrops are not only what will dampen this earth by the end of this day.

He shall either fail or find victory; there is no middle ground. It is that simple: Raiden or him shall be killed. The Shaolin monk can feel the poison. It is the anger that has mounted and cut its course for this resolution. The want, desire, for revenge has driven him here for a purpose he shall fulfill or die trying.

Only Master Peace's training is able to stop him from running forward, shouting curses in a recklessly attempt to take Raiden's life as he watches lightening strikes a short distance from The Old Story. The steel blue and white clan Thunder God stands before Kung Lao full of life and strength.

'Where is Liu Kang? Is he with full strength or is he lifeless and cold upon a deserted rooftop?' Kung Lao mentally screams.

"Curse you Raiden!" The words come forth with ease. Soft petals pressed against his lips, they feel pleasing to be screamed in animosity. "You wretched traitor!"

The monk can see the surprise clearly within Raiden's eyes and on his face. Why would he be? What did he think killing Liu Kang would do? "Kung Lao, what happened to you?" he questions. The concern that covers his voice must false, the monk assures himself. His passive speaking is merely a cheap game to bring down his guard. "I have seen the truth Raiden." Kung Lao's voice quivers with anger, yet he almost on the verge of tears once more. The sensation tingles his eyes, burning shame into him. But his is determine not to shed tears before his enemy and fights them back. "I know your treachery. _You_ betrayed Earthrealm! _You_ killed Liu Kang!"

Hot angry tears are unstoppable as they trickle down the monk's cheeks, and he steps forth from beneath the peach tree so they merely look like raindrops. "Kung Lao you misunderstand—"  
"No," he interrupt, "I will not listen to your lies any longer. You will pay with your life for what you've done!"  
"Kung Lao no!" The monk charges forward, heedless to the words. He is certain he knows the Thunder God wishes to fight as well, and it is his meek cowardice is what stops him from attacking out right. "Fight me Raiden!" the warrior cries out in frustration, as the Thunder God continually dodge, parry, and misguide his frantic attacks.

In the Shaolin warrior's undeniable eagerness to take Raiden's life, his attacks are with fierce strength and quickness. Everything he has trained for comes forth to aid him with this duel. However, the monk is still weak. Cursedly weak. Liu Kang's death and feeling the exhaustion of mourning has drained him of his energy. Kung Lao is hungry, tired, cold, and especially lonely.

It begins to show as his moves steadily become slower. Determination still courses strongly threw the monk in his rage, but he cannot go on much longer at this pace. A kick to the chest knocks the breath out of him. Sent stumbling backwards, he slips on the slick grass.

"Kung Lao you have wrongly accused," Raiden urges, while the warrior is down. "I did not kill Liu Kang. He is not dead." The Shaolin warrior glares up into his pure white eyes. "He is not dead," the Thunder God repeats. They are words that could be so sweet to hear if they were not lies. "Liar!" the monk shouts.  
"You must believe me," Raiden gently pleads. He steps back as the Shaolin struggles to his feet. "Liu Kang is not dead. He was only unconscious." The warrior is on his feet once more. "Let me prove it."  
"You can prove nothing. You can only confess you took Liu Kang's life. And die only as a traitor not a deceiver," Kung Lao sharply replies. The words of accusation seem to offend Raiden, and the monk can see the pain within his eyes. He almost hesitates at the emotion. Would it be worth seeing if the Thunder God's words were indeed truth? With the brunt of his anger demolished and exhaustion cloaking him, Kung Lao is able to hold back and consider the offer.

His hesitation gives away his consideration. Raiden knows the monk thinking about his proposal. However, as he continually watches Kung Lao, the monk cannot help the anger that wells within him once more. A wise man once told Kung Lao that anger is like a hot coal. You want to throw it at someone else, but end up holding it, and it is you who gets burnt. The thought runs through the monk's mind now. It is he who is getting burned.

Before the monk can speak, the Thunder God reaches for the heavens, and it is all too clear: he is going to teleport. Kung Lao knows this. He cannot let him escape! Dashing forward, the Shaolin suddenly stumble unsteadily as he nears Raiden. A flashing light blinds him, and he fall to his knees. But it is not grass that he hits… it is a wooden floor?

Kung Lao looks up in confusion. "Where have you taken me?" he questions. When there is no answer he yells, "I demand to know!" The words come forth as meaning to be strong and fierce, but they tremble. "Raiden?" he questions, but the Thunder God is no longer present.

Quickly glancing around, Kung Lao indeed sees no sign of him. Perhaps this is one of his tricks? The oddity of the situation brings nervousness. Ever restless, the creaking noise that emanates from the floor as he rises causes him to flinch. From what he can see, it appears he is inside a cottage, an old cottage. But where and why?

Slowly walking across the floor, he makes for the door that is in front. Perhaps the outdoors will offer more answers? Slowly pushing the wooden frame outwards, the Shaolin warrior is welcomed by a quite different scenario: wilderness surrounds the shack. A short porch is set in front with a few buckets and assorted tools within it. A small clearing is then seen farther out. Overgrown grass and wild flowers flourish. And there is a figure. A figure that looks strangely familiar…

It couldn't be. Yet the excess lengths of the silken red headband that rests gently upon his back, the stark black hair, and thigh guards whisper otherwise. "Liu Kang?" Kung Lao whispers. His words quiver with hope and disbelief. The figure turns. A brilliant smile, and immediately recognizable face greet as a response. "Liu Kang," Kung Lao says his name once more. He is saying it and knowing his friend will respond. It is unbelievable and so overwhelming.

All this grief? And here he sits. Well and waiting.

"Kung Lao," he replies, standing. Kung Lao begin to feel faint headed upon hearing him speak. He had believed he would never hear his friend speak again. Kung Lao can clearly see the concern and relief that cover Liu Kang's face. He begins to approach, and Kung Lao, too, moves. Almost tripping on his way down to the steps, he looks up to see him right before him. In flesh and blood. No… it couldn't be.

Hesitantly, Kung Lao raises his hand, and gingerly places it against his friend's cheek. This touch will prove if he is a mere illusion or if he is really here standing before me. Yes. Yes, he is real. Liu Kang is not dead. His hand rests against real, warm flesh. A smile illuminates his face upon seeing the relieved happy one upon his fellow monk's.

Liu Kang presses his hand against Kung Lao's, and they share a deep moment. It is short lived because Kung Lao quickly pulls his hand away to tug his longtime friend into a tight embrace. The monk latches himself to Liu Kang, afraid that in some moment he might wake up to realize this had all been a dream. Liu Kang's arms hold Kung Lao equally tighter. It is wonderful to be embraced by someone only to be embraced harder.

Guilt floods threw Kung Lao as he realizes Raiden had spoken the truth, yet he had shown great disrespect and ignored it. "I thought he'd killed you." The monk is surprised to hear his own voice is so weak. "I saw you…" The words falter, as he does not want to speak them. "Raiden was near you, I could only assume," he says instead.

Kung Lao head rests upon Liu Kang's shoulder as he listens to his response. "Raiden forgives you." His words are reassurance, but Kung Lao still feels the undeniable guilt.  
"It's alright, I'm here," Liu Kang whispers into his friend's ear when he feels a few tears wet upon his shoulder. The later shivers at the hot breath against the shell of his ear. He is still in shock and the grief has yet to vanish completely. "I though you were gone, too. When Sindel had ambushed and I couldn't find you…" he pauses at the words, and sighs hesitantly before squeezing Kung Lao tightly. "I thought she had killed you."  
"No, I was unconscious behind the stairway."

Kung Lao frowns, realizing the irony of the situation: Liu Kang had mistaken him for dead, just as he had mistaken Liu Kang's death.

"I was afraid I'd lost you," Liu Kang says, pulling back. He cups Kung Lao's face, to stare into his friend's violet-blue eyes. Kung Lao knows the pain and grief of thinking a loved one is gone, and makes to reply, but suddenly his mouth is sealed.

Kung Lao's eyes widen in dumbfound. Liu Kang's lips line flush to his, and the course, yet somehow soft lips make the shorthaired monk's tingle. The action is too surprising to be given a reaction, and Kung Lao is motionless. Stiff. Liu Kang pulls back after a few moments of nothing returning his embrace. Kung Lao can see the wonder immediately. Yet… he is not sure if he couldn't or didn't want to react.

He wants to say something, but does not seem sure what. The moment might have been awkward, but he is too occupied with the sudden inner decision: should he return the embrace? Liu Kang and him had gone through so much together. Perhaps they are soul mates…

Master Peace words come to the monk abruptly. He can nearly hear the old man speaking them— as though he says them now. "The bond between Liu Kang and you was more than friendship." Had Master Peace known all along? That their friendship was turning into something more?

Having averted his eyes from Liu Kang's in the thought's embrace, Kung Lao returns his attention. This Shaolin Monk before him means more than anything. It is Liu Kang who stood at his back so that they would never be overcome by our foes and now loves him simply for who he is. The words Kung Lao had wished he could tell his friend come back.

Now, the monk looks to see his emotions. Liu Kang seems choked-up, embarrassed, and disappointed. Kung Lao can read his friend's emotions like seeing pebbles at the bottom of a clear pond. After all, the monks have known one another for nearly all of their lies. Kung Lao realize the time he had not known Liu Kang was… empty.

Kung Lao can't help but to smile slightly: nothing can bring him more joy then making Liu Kang happy. "Kang?" he question. The said monk's attention is instant. It dawns on Kung Lao, then, how much the man wants him… and he, in turn, is realizing that he, too, wants him. Leaning forward hesitantly, Kung Lao stops halfway. The thickness of the moment is easing away the young warrior's confidence.


	5. Sunrays

Kung Lao can feel something click instead of him when his lips touch Liu Kang's. His thoughts are uncertain. Is this what he wants? But when his friend's lips press against his, he is suddenly swept away. His chest tightens and his mind draws blank, only able to concentrate on the lips that press against his own.

Liu Kang pulls back, with a lopsided grin. He can see Kung Lao's dumbfound, and he finds it quite amusing. Now that he knows his friend is returning certain feels he'd been harboring for quite some time he can begin to relax. "Was it what you'd expected it would be?" he asks.  
"No," Kung Lao replies slowly. His eyes seem glazed over as though he is still drunk from their lips embrace. "It was better…"  
"You seem to show that quite well," Liu Kang replies, using his playful tone to hide his relief. Kung Lao snorts, more at the comment than the hidden emotion. "Like you wouldn't know. For some who's never kissed a man before, you seem rather accustomed to it." To this, the Shaolin monk cannot help the tints of red that cling to his cheeks. "Humph, that's not important." Kung Lao frowns. "You haven't kissed another man before have you…?"  
"No!" Liu Kang seems insulted at the notion, but relaxes a little with his friend raises his hands to show he meant no offense. "I… just asked some one about it."  
"W—"  
"But, that isn't important right now," Liu Kang quickly interrupts. "Why don't you focus less on something like that and more on the beauty that surrounds you?"

Kung Lao gives his friend an annoyed look before complying. He blinks dumbly as his gaze looks over the beautiful forestry that surrounds them. It is beaming with such beauty and love that one would have never thought that the death and destruction of Shao Kahn's army in New York was realistic. The monk pinches himself in uncertainty. Is this a dream? It feels like something out of a fairytale.

"Come on," Liu Kang says, motioning that his fellow monk should follow him. He leads them through the meadow's tall grass. There is already a fresh pathway that Liu Kang had made before, that is what they follow now. Deeper they walk into the meadow until Liu Kang pauses on top of a gently slopping hill. From there, Kung Lao can feel the gentle kiss of summer's breeze. It tickles his face and lifts a few of his strands of his drying hair.

"Do you see it?" Liu Kang questions as he watches Kung Lao. The monk chuckles in embarrassment. "See what? Everything is beautiful," he replies. Liu Kang smirks and takes his friend's chin with a gentle hand, turning it so that he can see what he was talking about. "Oh…" Kung Lao quietly says. "That… it's… it's amazing."

The monk sees an Asian home built two-stories high. It is the simplest way it, for it is far from that. Kung Lao is half-tempted to pinch himself again, assured that he must be dreaming now. Everything is surreal. The way the stream below sparkles brilliantly under the splendor of the sun's rays, whilst the flowers of all sorts of blossoms bloom with pleasant fragrance all around.

The house is built at the edge of a forest clearing. From this hill, Kung Lao can see the clearing is quite large and very nourished. Truly, it is a wonderful place to build a house. To live within the peaceful boundaries of nature and enjoy its beauties everyday is a blessed thing.

And the home, itself, is built to blend with such beauties. Its Asian style roof is a shamrock green with a lining of amaranth red. The wood bracket supports look to the color of some sort of brown, but at this distance it is difficult to perceive what shade.

Kung Lao can see easily see the building was built with a open mind for other architecture designs, for it has a porch much like the ones he'd seen while in America. Further, there is even a porch swing set there. The monk could easily stare at the home and realize many more of its beauties.

"Wow…" he whispers as Liu Kang hand falls onto his shoulder.  
"It was my parents. Raiden had been safeguarding it for me. Keeping it like this until he thought the times was right, and I should need it," he says.  
"It's very… scenic," Kung Lao offers, for he honestly doesn't know what to say. Liu Kang doesn't mind though, and he simply nods at the response. "Am I dreaming?" Kung Lao asks suddenly. A strange question to ask, indeed, but he isn't sure if he stands in reality or is walking in a dream world. Liu Kang laughs even though he can obviously hear the anxiety in his friend's voice. Kung Lao snorts his disapproval and waits for him to grow quiet.

The humored annoyance the young monk harbors are he listens to his friend chuckle somehow reminds him of Shao Kahn entering Earthrealm. He stiffens, wondering how he could have forgetten something so important. Questions immediately come forth: Had Raiden found the one? Or was that yet to be determined? Had New York been completely destroyed? What about their allies? "Lao?" The said monk looks to his friend with daunting eyes. Liu Kang's brows quickly furrow, but he remains silent. "What about Shao Kahn?" Kung Lao questions. His voice is nearly demanding, but he manages to refrain from using quite that much intensity in his tone.  
"He's gone."  
"Gone?" Kung Lao gazes at his friend in confusion. He knows Liu Kang wouldn't jest about such things, but surely that couldn't be true. It was not unknown that the situation had become intensely dire.

Liu Kang sees his friend's inner battle and leans close to his face. Kung Lao instinctively reacts to tilt his head back, but hold firm remembering they're not just friends anymore. "He's gone, Lao. Raiden discovered how to defeat. Earthrealm is saved." The words are straight to the point, lacking any adequate details. Kung Lao finds it annoying, despite knowing that Liu Kang is simply trying to say it in a way so that he won't have to do any delving on the matter. "How?" the monk asks nonetheless.  
"Don't worry about it right now. I'll tell you later. For now, come on I want to show you the inside." With the promise of answers later, Kung Lao is mildly satisfied. He stares at his friend for a while, making certain the man knows there will be questions later. Even so his stare that was meant to intimidating is quickly turned half-hearted when he begins to stare dumbly at Liu Kang's lips. He's speaking, but Kung Lao isn't listening to what he's saying. He feels entranced for a moment in the thought: is he really falling in love?

A peck to the lips breaks the monk out of his stun quickly. Liu Kang chuckles at the slow reaction, but he is embarrassed from not being use to intimate things like that. A blush of red embeds his cheeks, and honestly Kung Lao is glad he isn't the only one. He offers a sheepish smile before taking the lead down the hillside. "Why would Raiden think you'd need the house now?" the monk questions quite absentmindedly. He is watching the flowers sway to and fro. They leave a sweet scent in the air that he happily picks up.  
"Well…" Liu Kang hesitantly starts. The later monk doesn't take any notice to his friend's uncertainty at first, but after a few moments he glances over to see his friend has gotten a scarlet red flushing in his cheeks. "Kung?" he questions, his voice poorly attempts to hide his amusement by using a monotone. "You don't have to tell if you don't think you can…" he teases. The young monk can't resist the temptation to tease his friend. "Er… well…" Liu Kang starts again. "I asked him."  
"Why?"  
"Look, after I heard you were alive I knew we were going to need a place to stay, and… it would probably be best if it were in… if we could be in solitude for a while. After everything I thought it would be nice…"

Kung Lao frowns at the sudden outburst, but he does know Liu Kang can get a quick-tempered sometimes. Seeing as there's a guilty look on Liu Kang's face, he grins to show no offense had been taken. "Good choice, Kang," Kung Lao says, giving him thumbs up, like he'd seen Johnny Cage do more than a dozen times. "Well? Come on," he adds in a louder voice. Tired as he may be, Kung Lao wants to spend every moment with his friend, memorable moments at that. Moments that would remain brightly in his mind should either of them—he quickly averts away from the thought. It would be to just keep things at memorable.

The sun has finally begun to shine and by the Elder gods it's rays are brighter and warmer than Kung Lao has ever felt before. Not just upon his body, but as well as slipping inside his soul to chase away and ripe apart the sorrow and hatred that had been festering there.


	6. The Beauty of A Home

Liu Kang jogs to Kung Lao's side and grabs his hand. The monk chuckles sheepishly at the action and joyfully as he is pulled behind his friend at a quickening pace.

Kung Lao sees his face, and he can see that Liu Kang is just as happy as he is. His affectionate grin sings in tune with Kung Lao's. The memory of running to the Old Story stings distantly as the monk thinks of it now. His friend is here now and will be there should he run ahead and turn to look back. The thought makes him feel like a child: joyful, free, and reckless.

Bursting ahead, Kung Lao tugs my fellow monk behind. Liu Kang has to hurry to keep pace because the later has always been a bit faster. They're nearing the house, and Kung Lao's excitement gets the better of him. Turning, he tugs on his friend's hand a little harder. "Come on Kang!" he cheerfully says. An amused chuckle passes his lips as their eyes meet, causing Kung Lao to laugh in turn.

With his gaze on Liu Kang, Kung Lao turns his attention to where he's going a moment too late. The monk trips over an unforeseen rock, and he yelps in surprise as he crashes down onto his side, pulling Liu Kang with him. Liu Kang lands on top of him, and they tumble over one another a few times. Unfortunately the stream is closer then Kung Lao had anticipated. The both of them end up in the water's edge, but no damage is done.

They sit up, slightly dazed. It strikes Kung Lao as funny: two hard-trained Shaolin Monks racing through a meadow only to trip on a rock and rolling into a stream. Liu Kang apparently is having the same thought running through his mind. They both burst into laughter for a moment as they sit in the shallow water. Seems the only clouds in the sky are wispy cirrus, the sun has no obstacles to block its heat. The water is refreshing because of this.

"You're hurt," Liu Kang says, breaking the silence.  
"Huh?" Kung Lao questions. His friend shuffles to his side and lightly touches his knee. Kung Lao sees what he was talking about. "Just I scratch," he excuses. The top layer of his knee's skin has been flayed off to reveal the underside and, unfortunately, his pants have a tear as well. Now that Liu Kang had mentioned it, the small wound begins to sting.

"Ow," Kung Lao says.  
"Sorry." Liu Kang quickly reclines his hand from where it had been touching near the wounded skin. "No, no. It's just hurting now." Kung Lao doesn't want him to think it is his fault. He hesitantly realizes he had liked having his hand on him. "I'm sure there's something we can use in the house." He offers his hand, having stood whilst speaking. Kung Lao smiles at the friendly gesture and accepts. "We'll have to change as well." The monk snorts in false irritation at the comment, and Liu Kang's smirk to the response is teasing. Kung Lao shrugs it off and softly shoves against his friend's shoulder as he passes him by.

The stream is too wide to jump and too deep to pass threw without drenching themselves further. Kung Lao opts to jump across on a few stepping stones that present themselves, but Liu Kang says otherwise. He leads downstream a little ways to a small bridge. It's small yet necessary and very convenient. It's wide enough for at least four men to stand side by side and looks to be sturdy enough to hold plenty of weight.

"Come on, I still want to show you the house," Liu Kang persists when Kung Lao pauses to lean over the side of the bridge. He gestures for impatient monk to lead the way.

The short distance to the house is companionably quiet. Liu Kang gazes contently at the house with a certain pride to his eyes and stride, while Kung Lao studies his surroundings. He can't help but to indulge in the beauty. His outstretched hands feel flower petals and grass tickling his fingertips as they are passed by. It truly is a perfect place to build a home.

Liu Kang glances at his friend as they arrive at the front porch. Kung Lao is staring intently at the house, but quickly, and impatiently, turns to look at his fellow monk. He can't deny that his curiosity to see the inside of the house is overbearing. Liu Kang reads the expression easily. That's how close the two monks have become. Liu Kang and Kung Lao are like open books to one another. They know every page written so far and dearly love the story.

Kung Lao stares. That's all he can do. Words do not form, for they cannot form. The house is beautiful. Amazing. Fairytale like. Raiden most undoubtedly had done an excellent job of preserving its magnificence.

There is a small rug placed to the side of the door for keeping the floor clean of footwear. Kung Lao waits for Liu Kang to remove before they continuing on with the tour—he has none himself, because he had forgotten them. The entry way is also the living rom. A two-person sofa is placed on a fine rug. The rug looks fine—and expensive—the design is quite simple: a lotus flower embroidery with an Asian style dragon sleeping in the center. The dragon is rather difficult to make out because of the small bamboo table placed on it as a centerpiece. As for the sofa, it has a fallow brown color and a knitted sapphire colored blanket draped over the back of it. From the looks, it is an American import. Still, it looks comfortable. Opposite it are two chairs: a reclining chair—also American looking and a fallow brown—and a rocking chair.

"Lao?" Liu Kang's voice breaks the monk's admiring gaze. "Come on, I'll show you the kitchen."  
"This place is amazing," Kung Lao quietly says as they enter walk into the other room.

The kitchen is sanitary and well maintained. Nothing is out of place. Cabinets with glass for the front hold dishes and cooking essentials. Below the cabinets a wooden counter stretches all the way around the squared room, except for the places were a stove was put in. Surprisingly enough there's also a refrigerator. It sits between the counter and wall opposite the door. A pantry with assorted foods is to the left of the kitchen entry door. A fairly large window sits above a beautiful sink. It is a very nice set-up.

"Your parents were very modernized," Kung Lao comments thoughtfully.

"Yes. They embraced technology as it came," Liu Kang agrees. Kung Lao can see remembering them stings his friend. "I'm sorry," he offers lightly brushing his hand against Liu Kang's. He smiles at the gesture, "Let's not worry over the matter. I've come to accept what has happened." Kung Lao nods faintly. "So… do you want to show me upstairs?"


	7. Upstairs

The railing alongside the stairway is made from walnut, and the stairs are lined with a fine deep red carpeting that is soft and pleasant under the feet. Upstairs the flooring is also walnut, appearing to be protected by a glossy covering. "There are only two rooms and an attic up here," Liu Kang says. "My room and my parent's room." He then gestures towards the doors towards down the hallway and a handle on the ceiling above down a little ways on the opposite side of the hall to the rooms. "Okay," Kung Lao absentmindedly replies. His eyes are continually taking everything of Liu Kang's home. He walks to a single window nearby. It's rather large and provides an adequate view of outside. "Come on. I'll show you my parent's room first," Liu Kang says, seeing his friend his happily distracting. "This room." He gestures towards the first door they come upon. By the way he acts, Kung Lao can tell he is eager to show the inside.

Kung Lao peaks inside the room and is greeted by the sight of a large lovely room. The most striking object to notice is the bed. It's more than ample for two people and is gorgeously made. A thin canopy of silk curtains, which hang from cleverly crafted sleek polls, surrounds it. The beams are carved in the manner of peaceful Coiling Dragons. They hold the polls in their scaly hands, with eyes closed as if sleeping themselves. The blankets thrown over the bed are surprisingly simple and stand out in sharp contrast to the ornamental style of the bed. Yet, the sapphire color of the covers seems to suit best even so.

Kung Lao stares at the display in child-like dumbfound. "Wow?" he offers more than few moments slip by. "My mother loved artistic furniture," Liu Kang softly says. His voice reflects his inner pondering of her. "She loved the ocean as well, having lived her most of her life near it, until she met my father. That's why the dragons are Coiling Dragons."

"How was it made?" Kung Lao questions, carefully feeling one of the Dragon's carved scales.

"The beams?" Those were actually hand carved by a good friend of my father's. He carved on wood for most of his life… it was his living." Liu Kang pauses for a moment in consideration. "It took him two years to create the dragons. One year for two dragons."

"He did an amazing job," Kung Lao says, drifting back to Liu Kang's side. He shuffles, realizes that a blush has begun to lighten his cheeks from a completely mysterious reason. Kung Lao hopes Liu Kang doesn't notice, but as soon as he hopes he knows his friend has. "W-what about your room?" he forces out in embarrassment.

"Um… this way," Liu Kang bluntly says, as if surprised he can even talk.

He leads Kung Lao out of his parent's room and into his room. Once more, the young monk is looks inside the room with interest and is welcomed by a handsome room. He admires the cleverness of the wood designs and details, glancing over the room with vivid interest. He is, after all, getting a glimpse into a young Liu Kang's life. "You're room is amazing too," he announces finally. Liu Kang walks up beside him, having been behind for the moments his friend looked around. "I always loved it," he admits. Kung Lao feels pain, as he knows Liu Kang must. His friend is happily showing him his parent's house despite being harshly reminded of their love. He is doing this even though it hurts.

Kung Lao entwines his fingers with Liu Kang's "Hey," he whispers. "I know your parents are proud… I know I am." He pauses, feeling the weight of the moment. "Proud, luck—" Liu Kang's lips press firmly against Kung Lao's. The Shaolin monk sinks into the passion with a quicker reaction, not knowing whether the first kiss had given him more confidence or he simply wants it more now. As he presses his lips against Liu Kang's, he feels arms wrap around his waist, to which, in turn, Kung Lao's slips his own around his neck. His whole body tingles as he feels the passion burn between them.

Liu Kang's tongue slips between his friend's lips and begs for entrance. Kung Lao's soul is screaming for more and quickly allows the tongue to invade his mouth. He wants to feel love and joy, having pain and misery grip him had simply been too much. A shiver trickles down his spine as Liu Kang's tongue hungrily explores his mouth.

At first Kung Lao is tentative to react into the kiss as well. His tongue softly tongues Liu Kang's, a motion his friend quickly gets into and touches back. Confidence rises like a wave, pleasing for both of them. It is a rushing moment of contentment and true passion.

Nonetheless, they are forced apart in the need for air.

Kung Lao feels a dread silence pour of him, and he frowns suddenly. He was a nervous wretch about the new bond their friendship shared, now he's afraid Liu Kang might no longer feel the same. Love is strange and confusing. "It's real," Liu Kang whispers, as if he'd read Kung Lao's thoughts. "It was…" Kung Lao croaks, in a barely audible voice. It's neither a statement nor a question, words simply coming forth. Liu Kang smiles anyways.

Kung Lao stares at the expression, thinking how he was certain he would never see that smile again. His face goes blank then sour with pain. What if he had actually lost Liu Kang? "Lao, I'm here," Liu Kang softly offers. "I'm not that easy to kill." Kung Lao smiles faintly at the joking words, but tears still gather. He pushes his face into Liu Kang's chest, relishing the warm and the sound of strong beating heart. "I know," he mumbles.


	8. Lull

As Kung Lao is pressed close to Liu Kang's body he can feel nearly every tremor. His cheek is rested against his bare chest, and he knows Liu Kang can feel the few tears he had shed because they moisten his skin.

Liu Kang shifts his right arm so that he can stroke Kung Lao's short, damp, hair. It is a motion that eases them both into a relaxed state.

Tears dry easily, but Kung Lao still feels the ache of knowing his friend had been close to death and it aches more then he'd thought possible now knowing how much closer they've become. 'If something could have happened, but didn't then there is no point in indulging in what could have or couldn't.' Master Peace had taught him this. It is a lesson meant to bring a peaceful composure, and Kung Lao focuses, trying to let it.

However, it is difficult with Liu Kang being so close. He feels the man gingerly pulling a few strands of hair out of their tangled mess, and it reminds him of his bladed hat. He frowns wondering where he'd left it. Still, it did not matter too much since he could easily summon it back. He sighs contently, noting how the breath against Liu Kang's chest makes the monk shift. It causes him to look up and the pair's eyes lock. A questioning gaze: what now? Yet, it also wields trust and love, something it has always before, but now in a different way. As before it had been brotherly love not it is a lover's love.

A shiver finds it way down Kung Lao's spine, reminding him of the cool spring's water. He chuckles contently at the fresh memory. How childish Liu Kang and him could be! "You're cold," Liu Kang says. "I have clothes you can borrow."

"Are you sure?" Kung Lao knows he is, but feels inclined to ask nonetheless.

"Yes," he whispers. His voice is different suddenly, more husky. Hoarse.

Kung Lao looks into his eyes again, but this time Liu Kang avoids his gaze. It's strange, but somehow the monk knows it's not a bad thing. Liu Kang's arms release him, leaving the shorter monk to realize he misses the kiss of the warm embrace. Still, he follows Liu Kang as he walks to his dresser. Dry clothes sound nice right now.

"Crafty," he notes as Liu Kang opens one of the dresser's drawers.

"You must like carved furniture." It's a statement, although Liu Kang is telling Kung Lao something about himself. He grins at the words. "I do?"

"Yes, I think you do." Liu Kang hands his friend the clothes he'd found from the drawer—a pair of pants and a shirt. "They should fit," he says, as Kung Lao examines them a little.

"They're nice," he replies. "I'm sure they'll work."

Liu Kang leaves the room soon afterwards with a new pair of pants for himself and goes into his parent's room to chance, giving them both privacy.

Kung Lao leisurely slips out of his damp clothing and untidily piles it on the floor, making certain to avoid the rug. He pulls up the black pants to find they're a comfortable material, even if a little too long. The shirt is compressed to his chest, leaving him wonder if Liu Kang prefers tight shirts. But even so, Kung Lao doesn't mind it so much, seeing as his own wet shirt had been quite tight. He rolls up his pants a little and grabs his wet clothes.

"I'm done," he says, stepping out of the room. Liu Kang is lean against the wall near the door to his parent's room. "Me too," he replies.

"So where do we hang the wet clothes?" Kung Lao shows him the damp bundle. There is no reply and after a few silent moments, the monk realizes why. He looks down at the floor in embarrassment, realizing he'd never had an admirer that he had known about or acknowledged. Once more an awkward silence looms between them, and it's hard to interpret just like before. Kung Lao chances a glance at Liu Kang to see his friend's ears have gone bright red. Love is such a strange thing, the way it makes people act and feel.

Kung Lao wonders what the monk sees him that he hadn't seen before. He had never thought much about his looks, seeing as it hadn't mattered before. He was never trying to impress anyone in a courting manner or catch second looks.

Kung Lao looks curiously at Liu Kang. What does he see in his best friend now? Before he had looked at him as a friend and brother, but now he sees a possible lover. The very notion makes him feel faintly lightheaded and sets crimson red in his cheeks.

Liu Kang is handsome doubtlessly. He has deep sea green eyes, smooth scar-less face that a considering expression adorns, and stark black hair that clings to his neck at the tips because of the incident with the brook. And without a shirt, his muscles show finely. Kung Lao finds himself admiring the strong curves of the monk's body, how his chest rises and slowly falls with each breathe, how his pants show a nice definition of his waist and legs…

The monk blushes furiously.

"Outside," Liu Kang says suddenly, in oddly strained voice. "We can hang the clothes outside."

"Sure," Kung Lao quickly agrees, trying to push away his overwhelming feels and imagination. "Shall I lead the way?" he offers with a grin. Liu Kang nods slowly, clearly still in… dumbfound. Kung Lao raises an eyebrow, nearly poking his friend for his slowness, but holds back. Should he really run his… moment? "Come on lover boy," he orders instead, leading the way down the stairs. He grips his bundle of clothing tightly in his renewed embarrassment.

Why is love so hard? Kung Lao finds he is lost to understand such a thing. Was this just the beginning? He could only compare this to uncovering a certain inner energy, an energy that he didn't really now how to react to. As he walks out of the house, he understands that he does want more out of his relationship with Liu Kang. He did want to be more than just a friend. It is an understanding that makes his heart quicken. Liu Kang had always been a great friend, but what about a lover?

"Whoa!" he yelps, tripping over an object he'd filed to notice while walking towards the hanging line. He grumbles more out of embarrassment then annoyance or pain and shifts around to his back to see Liu Kang laughing at his expense. He fakes a frustrated frown. "Aren't you going to help me up?" he questions in a mocking tone, after noting how Liu Kang seemed to be all to humored by the clumsiness. Grinning, the monk offers his hand.

Kung Lao gratefully accepts and pulling down hard, almost breaking Liu Kang's balance, but he sees the attempted trick and quickly pulls up his friend before he can further his efforts. "Nice try," he mocks, watching Kung Lao attempt a pouty face. "Come on, let me help you so you don't fall over again." Kung Lao casts him a false look of daggers as Liu Kang grabs his arm and begins to lead him.

The pair clip up their clothes in silence. It is comfortable silence, neither feeling the need to break it. The calming sound of a soft breeze blowing through the trees causing the leaves to whisper and grass to dance is a beautiful contenting lull. The whole day has been a lull. A sweet tune.


	9. Not Tired And Needing More

"You're so slow!" Kung Lao jests, waiting for Liu Kang to finish pining up his pants.

"You're just impatient," he retorts, smoothing them out. Kung Lao hums absently as he pretends to not be paying attention. He glances over at his friend, "So… how was Shao Kahn defeated?"

"Surely you don't want to talk about that?" Kung Lao frowns at the response and wonders why Liu Kang would be surprised that he would. "It's what we fought for, why wouldn't I want to know?"

"No…" Liu Kang mutters.

Kung Lao glances at him, but can't secure his gaze as the monk evades looking at straight at him. "Yo, my name is Kung Lao _and_ I'm standing _over here_," he says with slight annoyance when Liu Kang purposely keeps ignoring him. He chuckles at the profound look he is rewarded with. "You were New York for too long," Liu Kang says.

"No," Kung Lao corrects, "I was with Johnny Cage too often." He stares into the monk's eyes, hoping to find an answer to the unusual behavior. "What's wrong?" Still no answer. "You're acting strange." Liu Kang looks away, blushing furiously.

Often times Kung Lao speaks and acts before he truly thinks about the consequences. He doesn't do it often, more around Liu Kang or when anger. It's one of his many flaws, as the kombat master had said, but Master Peace said it was just a flaw as a mortal. In any case, he does so now.

"Hey," Kung Lao says to get Liu Kang's attention, or what he can of it. As soon as he turns to look, the shorter monk places a hand against his face and leans up. His lips press softly against Liu Kang's and the blush that adorns Kung Lao's cheeks is horribly noticeable, but that doesn't cause him to break the embrace. At first Liu Kang is too shocked to react, but he soon is responding. Kung Lao quickly finds he enjoys kissing him more than he allows himself to believe.

"What's wrong?" he questions, pulling back. He needs to know, despite the twinge of guilt upon seeing the disappointment in Liu Kang's handsome sea green eyes. He sees something else though. Kung Lao almost says Gods when he realizes what. Lust. Yearning. He wants him? "Oh…" he whispers. He can see Liu Kang's looking at him, as if sizing him up. Perhaps to see how he's reacting. Kung Lao can only assume he must not have shown any signs of open rejection because Liu Kang's lips are suddenly open his again. But his mind is still rushing even with the gentle, passionate touch. Was this right? Perhaps not. Many people shunned love like this. Are—

Liu Kang's tongue slips between his lips, begging for entrance. Bliss of pleasure sends the monk feeling high and he caves in, wanting more as well. Lust, too, takes plant in his body as Liu Kang eagerly tastes his mouth. It feels extraordinarily good to feel someone want him so badly and want them in return. Being a Shaolin monk has kept Kung Lao's—and Liu Kang's—desires ignored for many years, even if not forgotten. Kung Lao finds it feels good to be letting out those feelings, letting them take control, and he can sense Liu Kang's desire thick in the air as well.

"Should we…? Are we…?" he tries to ask, but doesn't quite know how to say it. Though, the monk supposes it isn't any easy thing to say. Liu Kang doesn't reply with words. He pushes Kung Lao down into the grass, attacking his neck immediately with tender kisses. Moans and breathy gasps are voiced as Liu Kang continues his assault on his friend's vulnerable neck. Kung Lao writhers and pulls at grass blades, straddled by passion. His eyes jolt open in surprise as Liu Kang's teeth sink into his neck and a yelp welcomes the action.

The monk notes how strange it is that pain only adds to the pleasure instead of taking it away. Liu Kang's hand slips under his shirt, and his thoughts are pushed astray. "Not here…" Kung Lao gasps. "House… in the house…" He bites the instead of his lip as Liu Kang's fingers softly caress his lower abdomen, threatening to slip beneath his pant's seam. Liu Kang huffs in disappointment, but he knows Kung Lao is right. However, he is quick to find a solution that will keep their bodies close. Pulling Kung Lao's legs around his waist, he snakes his hands behind his back. Kung Lao quickly understands what his friend plans to do, even though the notion embarrasses him to a great deal. He leans into Liu Kang as he stands, nonetheless. The monk's strength is admirable as he stands with little difficulty, and it coxes Kung Lao's desire all the more.

Their lips paste together as Liu Kang struggles to blindly get back to the house. Kung Lao breaks the kiss with a laugh as his friend stumbles. He is not patient enough to wait for Liu Kang to get to the house to start exploring the sensitivity for his skin, however. Attentively biting the lob of his ear, he grins cheekily at the reaction. He runs his tongue down his neck, finding that Liu Kang shivers pleasurably under the touch. Kung Lao begins nipping at venerable skin and kissing different points. Then, when he gets to the upper crock of Liu Kang's neck, he knows he has found the most sensitive spot. The monk stumbles forward, driven over the edge by the incentive teasing. The monks are close to the house now, and Kung Lao's back smacks against it, right beside the door.

He grunts in annoyance and slight amusement. "Oaf," he mutters hotly into Liu Kang's ear. There is a snort, but the monk does not comment. Kung Lao can tell his friend his more intent on getting upstairs, and a tingle of nervousness weighs in his stomach. He nuzzles and licks the upper crock of Liu Kang's neck to hide it. "The door," he gasps out, quite unable to open himself.

"Got it," Kung Lao breathes into his ear. Liu Kang shivers and hurriedly enters the house as soon as the door is opened.

Kung Lao immediately notices something stiffly pressing against his bottom as Liu Kang begins walking up the stairs. It becomes all too apparent that his monk friend is extremely aroused, but he's not the only one, seeing as Kung Lao realizes he's also aroused. He becomes embarrassed at the reaction, but it falters when he takes a step and becomes lowered, causing Liu Kang's arousal to poke against him. Kung Lao gasps in surprise, his stomach bubbling with pleasure. He wiggles back and forth against Liu Kang, earning them both amassing of delight. It is a bit too much for Liu Kang, however, and he leans against the wall breathing heavily. But he's not tired Kung Lao knows that.

Kung Lao isn't sure if he should or shouldn't be surprised when Liu Kang drops him on his mother and father's bed. There was nothing wrong with the idea, but he couldn't help but to wonder if it felt a little weird. Kung Lao assumes the feeling is only one-sided when Liu Kang quickly gets to work with removing his shirt. He presses his lips against his friend's chest, kissing it wetly.

The monk grips his black hair when he begins to pinch his sensitive, erect, nipples. He growls, a low rumble that vibrates in his throat. It causes Kung Lao's flames of desire to spark even higher, and he pulls Liu Kang up to capture his lips in a tough, but passionate kiss. It feels perfect to the monk. The doubt that had caused him falter before is swept away with the waves of their passionate touching. For doing something so new it feels natural.

The departure of their lips is only for a short moment. Sweet and short kisses follow afterwards. Since Liu Kang has no shirt, Kung Lao is free to explore and touch his taunt naked chest. The curves of the muscles feel gentle and hard under his fingers. Kung Lao finds himself loving to touch Liu Kang's body. And he does too. Liu Kang presses against Kung Lao's hand, moaning contently.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this on the bed," Kung Lao whispers. "These covers are so nice…" Liu Kang smiles. "The floor is a little hard, but I doubt that will matter." Kung Lao blushes, but gets up nonetheless. The floor is hard, but that doesn't surprise either of them, and as Liu Kang had said it doesn't matter as much.

The monk moves between Kung Lao's legs, leaning on top of him to demand a kiss. Their needs press against one another, and Kung Lao bucks responsively, moaning with Liu Kang. Patient is a virtue, or so they had been taught. And yet, as Liu Kang pulls down his friend's pants, it is obvious the lesson means little at the moment.

The cool air that draws upon Kung Lao's bare legs cause him inhale in surprise. It dawns on him, at that moment, that he will be giving away his virginity to Liu Kang. Kung Lao had kept that for over twenty years to loose it now. Doubt would cause him to falter and maybe protest, but he doesn't feel this, and when he kisses and nibbles on Liu Kang's shoulder, he do so eagerly and happily. With the burning flames of passion he feels warmth. Happiness.

Kung Lao rolls his eyes as Liu Kang grins his hips desperately. But something causes so much pleasure is quickly no longer satisfying. It speaks clearly from Liu Kang's fervently kisses, licks, and nips at Kung Lao's neck.

Kung Lao's fingers snake to the band of Liu Kang's underwear, and he feels they're dry—drier than his own since he still wears his original. His friend grows rigid above him, and makes an almost purring noise against his ear as his drawers are pulled down as far as possible. Kung Lao nibbles on his ears, and whispers, "Can you finish?" Liu Kang's tongue following along the curve of his ear appears to the positive answer, and Kung Lao closes his eyes, enjoying the touch.

He bites his lip as he watches Liu Kang pulls off his underwear. Even so, he doesn't get a glance because lips are pressing against his in an instant, preventing a view. "Your turn," Liu Kang whispers as he pulls back. Kung Lao's hands are at the band of his underwear within moments, the reaction showing his body is reacting before his mind can register.

Liu Kang's hands fall away Kung Lao's, pulling down the underwear slowly. The shorter monk clenches his teeth, wanting the piece of clothing discarded quickly, but Liu Kang is keeping a slow pace. A whinny growl vibrates in Kung Lao's throat as the process remains slow, and Liu Kang nuzzles his neck as if to reassure him he will hurry. Kung Lao closes his eyes and hopes he will. He needs more.


	10. The Storm's End

The contentment of having his drawers being toss aside brings a deep rush of crimson to Kung Lao's cheeks, but his satisfaction is obvious as well.

Bare skin presses against bare skin, conjuring feels like never before. It feels poisonously good, a loud moan escaping Kung Lao. "Gods!" Liu Kang gasps, as he'd been holding his breathe. Kung Lao looks up at his face to see it is, too, flushed with pleasure. He tilts his head, noticing how handsome his friend looks a soft shade of red glowing in his tan skin. Liu Kang looks down.

Their lips paste together in mortal hunger, Kung Lao's hand pressed against Liu Kang's cheek. Temptation is beyond them now. The monks are to far to turn back—to want to turn back—now.

Their hard members press together as their lips do, causing a further pleasure and desperation to the heated kiss. Kung Lao bites down, grasping Liu Kang's bottom lip between his lip and pulls gently. The monk's hips snap forward causing ecstasy to shake through Kung Lao's body. He releases Liu Kang's lip to press his head against the floor. "Please," he begs breathlessly. His voice is shay and lust-filled and his 'problem' aching desperately.

"Gods," Liu Kang moans. Kung Lao feels his body's fires build as he hears the hoarse edge to the man's voice. But then again it seems like everything about Liu Kang is setting his body in a desire-felt fire.

Liu Kang pulls Kung Lao's feet onto his shoulders, pulling the monk closer. Sudden nervousness pokes the shorter haired monk. This is his first time, and he hasn't the slightest idea what it will be like. He fears he will ruin the moment. He looks into Liu Kang's eyes and sees his sea green eyes betray the same, but there is also eagerness and confidence.

It makes Kung Lao happy to see his friend want him so bad and the confidence gives him confidence. But that is rather short-lived when Kung Lao feels hard flesh touch his entrance. It pokes at him as if teasing or hesitant, he can't tell, but it drives a new height of pleasure upon him either way. "Gods," Kung Lao whispers, pressing his head against the floor. But he's quick to groan in pain when he feels the tip behind to intrude. He had imagined it would hurt, but this is more so then he believed.

Liu Kang grips his legs with a bruising grip, his patience peeling away. Kung Lao is thankful his friend still has enough self-control to wait for him to try to adjust. "Relax," Liu Kang whispers, his voice pleading. Kung Lao gazes into his friend's sea green eyes, and Liu Kang meets the gaze, pushing inward again.

This time Kung Lao yelps loudly as he feels more slip in. He gushes out a breath feeling the pain sting his insides. "Is this okay?" Liu Kang questions, alarmed at the outburst.

"Yes!" Kung Lao pants. He doesn't want to stop, but is hesitant and almost afraid to continue. A breathy moan escapes his mouth as Liu Kang slowly inches forward. The monk's chest constricts with pain, causing him to tighten more. "You have to relax."

"That's easy for you to say," Kung Lao retorts. "You—" Liu Kang's fingers grip around Kung Lao's erection, breaking off the words with a loud moan. More follow shamelessly as Liu Kang pumps the member and teases the leaking tip. Kung Lao's tension begins to fade away as he falls victim to his friend's handy work. "Bastard!" he shouts as Liu Kang slips more of himself inside.

It feels terribly unnatural to be stretched so much from the intrusion, and Kung Lao finds himself wanting to be free. But this is what he wanted. He resists wanting to pull away from the pain. "It won't hurt much longer," Liu Kang promises, filling further. Kung Lao clenches his teeth, holding back a retort and tries to focus elsewhere instead.

Liu Kang provides just the distraction as he begins to pumps Kung Lao's member more furiously. The monk worries his lip, trying not to be too loud, but it's terribly difficult seeing as his friend's hand is successfully driving him over the edge. "Hey!" he protests when Liu Kang's hand suddenly leaves his member weeping with desire of release. "Not yet." With that spoken, the monk begins to slowly push forward and pull back. Kung Lao clenches his fists white, until Liu Kang's hard member pressing into something that screams pleasure into him. A loud moan spills from his lips at the sensation. The pain is steadily replaced by the pleasure Liu Kang had promised.

The monk snaps his hips forward at a hungry pace. The sound of flesh slapping sounds in the air along side the grunts and moans.

Liu Kang drives himself deep into his friend's flesh to pull and repeat. The pleasure of Kung Lao's muscles gripping him loosely seems to beg from him to keep thrusting inside. Beads of sweat quickly begin to dribble down the monk's back as he keeps up his pace. His hand finds its way back to Kung Lao's hard member again. He grips it, pumping it hard and fast. It takes only a few moments before it's enough to send Kung Lao over the edge. He shouts, coming hard into Liu Kang's hand.

The offset of his release causes Kung Lao's muscles to contract, tightening and loosening around Liu Kang's erection. The monk snaps his hips forward and pushes his pulsing member as deep inside as he can, spilling his seed inside. Kung Lao arches his back to meet the release and pinches his teeth together to hold back a loud moan when the release pushes Liu Kang now limp member out.

Kung Lao remains motionless, trying to catch is breath as Liu Kang collapses beside him. "I'm glad we didn't do that on the bed," he pants. His friend chuckles in a breathless way. "It would have been worth it." Kung Lao smiles as he feels lips press fondly against his forward.

"I love you." The words tumble out. Liu Kang sea green eyes regard with such happiness that Kung Lao almost thinks he sees tears brim at the edge of his eyes. "I love you too," he whispers.


End file.
